


Clean Me Off

by fratboyryan



Series: for the bodies i claim [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Verse Typical Violence, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 03:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fratboyryan/pseuds/fratboyryan
Summary: Everyone always says that smoking is a leading cause of death. Shane just didn't think it was because he'd die witnessing a gang shooting on his way to buy a pack of cigarettes.





	Clean Me Off

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "I never told you what I do for a living" by MCR. Pretty classic for a mob AU. This is going to be a series of interconnected oneshots in the same verse. Please don't go looking for accuracy or anything here. You won't find it. Thanks to Austin @zachsdaddykink on tumblr for helping me with this AU! 
> 
> It's also my last entry for the Shyan Scavenger hunt for November, for the prompt 'coffin'.

Shane knew his cigarette habit would kill him one day. He just didn’t think it’d be because he watched a gang shooting when picking up a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds.

Shane lives in a shitty area of LA, and it’s not like gang violence is totally unheard of. Shane’s from fucking Chicago, after all, he’s not exactly a wilting violet. He just walks through the world with the confidence of a middle class, college-educated white guy, and expects nothing bad to ever happen to him. It’s worked out well so far, but maybe he should have reconsidered it.

He just was bored and craving a smoke and lonely and weak, and he figured throwing on some sweatpants and running down to the bodega at midnight wouldn’t come to any harm. It hadn’t, all the other times he’d done it, so why would he expect it to suddenly kill him now?

The bang of gunfire made him drop his lighter at the entrance to an alleyway. It clattered to the floor, skittering further into the alley. Motherfucker. Someone pressed something (that Shane _assumed_ was a gun) to Shane’s back and grabbed at his shoulder.

“Hands up,” the gangbanger hissed, and Shane complied. What else was he gonna do? He’s a fucking accountant, not the Karate Kid.

Getting threatened with a gun is one of those situations that you see so often in books and movies and stuff that you just _assume_ you’ll know what to do when the time comes. Shane’s got to be honest: the thing he’s most worried about was dropping his cigarette into a puddle. Shit’s expensive.

Three figures emerged from the alley, walking slowly out to meet him. Two Asians, one tall and pale, the other shorter and darker-skinned. They look like a comedic duo: the tall one in a dark overcoat and ramrod straight posture; the shorter one wearing sunglasses at night and wearing flashy jewellery like he just _knew_ exactly how much of a dickwad he looks like. A blonde white guy is in the middle of them, dragging the limp body of a man who Shane knows was just shot.

“Found a bystander, Night Night,” the guy behind Shane said, and Shane’s eyes flicked to the blond guy, and then back down to his lighter on the ground.

Night Night? Seriously? A guy called Night Night is gonna kill him? Damn. Fuck Shane’s life, seriously. He snorted at the thought, and his cigarette nearly fell to the ground. He caught it, thank God, but then he remembered he had a gun to his back. He’s probably lucky they didn’t shoot him already.

The short Asian one stepped forward, picked up Shane’s lighter, and held it out to Shane, offering him the light. Shane tentatively lit his cigarette, moving slowly to stop them from thinking he was gonna bolt. They all let him take a drag from his cigarette, and he made sure to blow the smoke away from the short Asian one’s – the one he assumed was Night Night – face.

“Somethin’ funny, huh?” Night Night asked, and Shane didn’t know if he genuinely wanted an answer.  
“Uh. Just. Knew I was gonna die smoking. Just didn’t imagine it quite like that.”  
“Heh,” Night Night cracked a smile. “You’re funny. Didn’t think you’d be funny, buddy.”  
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I used to be in an improv troupe. ‘Cause I’m white like that, I guess.”  
“That’s funny. You think that’s funny, guys?” Night Night asked his friends, and the white guy nodded. “You know what else I think is funny about you, huh? How cool you are under pressure. Most people would be begging me to spare them, tellin’ me about their family. You know what I mean?”

The issue is, Shane doesn’t even know if he really has anything to live for. It’s not like he’s super depressed or suicidal or anything, he just works a dead-end accountancy job that he hates, lives in a city he hates, and hasn’t had a long term relationship since his college girlfriend broke up with him. It’s not really a whole lot to beg for.

“Honestly, I think it’s mostly shock,” he quipped, going back to his cigarette. It’s easier to busy himself with something he knows how to do.  
“Shock, eh?” Night Night repeated, like it’s something he had to mull over. “Right, boys. Baby, grab Legs, here. Zack, make sure you put our other friend to bed, won’t you?”

The one behind Shane grabbed him by the collar of his work shirt, pressed the gun harder into Shane’s side, and turned him around. They walked towards a parked BMW, an all black number that Shane hadn’t noticed before.

“Drop the smoke. Give me your phone. Don’t damage the leather,” Baby grunted, and Shane dropped his half-finished cigarette into a grate, fished his phone out of his pocket, and let himself be manhandled into the car’s backseat. Baby slammed the door behind Shane and got into the shotgun seat, going immediately on his phone. His face was hidden under a baseball cap and by an oversized hoodie, but the little Shane could see looked like he bore a resemblance to Night Night. Does Night Night kill people with a teenage relative? That’s kind of fucking weird.

With nothing else to do, Shane buckled himself up.

The tall Asian one opened the other passenger door and lets Night Night in beside Shane. There’s only a middle seat’s space between Shane and a mobster, and the reality of his situation only just hit Shane.

Night Night’s got flashy gold rings on most fingers, drawing Shane’s attention to how he unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit comfortably. Night Night did up his seatbelt, and the tall one just drove off without instruction. The issue with Night Night, Shane thought, is that he is very attractive. He fills out a suit perfectly, and the parts of his face that Shane can see are a handsome jawline and full lips. Were they in any other situation, Shane would have flirted with the man.

“So, Legs. Tell me about yourself,” Night Night instructed, and Shane shrugged. What does someone tell a mobster?  
“Um. I’m an accountant?”  
“You like that?”  
“Accountancy isn’t really a career full of excitement.”   
“Right, right,” Night Night nodded, “take your tie off.”  
“Excuse me?” Shane blinked, surprised at the turn.   
“You heard me, Legs. Take your tie off and blindfold yourself. Really don’t wanna shoot you in my fuckin’ car.”

Shane took a deep breath, and with shaking hands, he untied his tie from around his neck. It felt weird to cover his own eyes, to be immediately plunged into darkness in a car with a bunch of mafia guys, but he didn’t really have a choice. He was glad that at least he hadn’t taken off his work shirt and tie when he got home. Did he want to die in some gross mafia blindfold? They probably have bags to put over his head and shit like that. At least he can breathe right.

“So, Legs. Got any hobbies?”

The switching gave Shane whiplash. Night Night seemed to go from friendly to intimidating with no indication, just to confuse the shit out of Shane. It’s a little terrifying, and a part of him he doesn’t want to interrogate is kind of interested.

“I like, um. Reading?” he squeaked, “you?”  
“Legs,” Night Night drawled, “are you asking me about myself?”  
“Uh.”  
“I just want you to know, you sound like a cop when you ask that.”  
Shane swallowed. “I understand telling you I’m not a cop is something a cop would say. Still, it’s relevant to say I’m not a cop. I’m an accountant. I do accountancy for a corporate law firm. Not a cop.”  
“Don’t worry, Legs,” Night Night said, and it wasn’t nearly as comforting as Shane hopes it was supposed to be, “we have ways to determine if you’re not a cop.”

Shane had nothing to say to that, and it seemed like Night Night was satisfied to leave Shane to stew in silence. Without any light or his phone, his perception of time passing was skewed. They could have been driving around for hours, or just minutes, but the total silence in the car meant that Shane would have honestly believed both.

When the car stopped, Shane realised he’d been drifting, half-dozing with not a lot of constraint in the real world. It felt weird to be still, to realise he was getting out of the car and to his death. He thought he ought to be more panicked, a little more worried. He was more worried with how _not_ worried he was. He didn’t feel much of anything. Just a blankness, settled over his heart.

He hears Night Night get out of the car, and for a brief second he’s worried he’s going to be left in the car. He doesn’t want that. He needs the comfort of Night Night being beside him, because Night Night is an unpredictable constant.

It feels like too long, when the side door is opened and someone unbuckled Shane. Shane thinks it’s Baby, because he doesn’t feel as _huge_ as the tall one, and Night Night doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would do his own dirty work. The gun pressed to Shane’s back is comforting, because it paints the world in an easy dichotomy.

“C’mon, Legs,” Night Night said, “let’s go get this bread.”

Baby snickered behind Shane and kicked the back of his heels, so Shane stumbled forward towards whatever they’re leading him to.

There’s a couple twists and turns they have to navigate, a few round about directions to take before they reach their destination. Shane can hear the muffled screaming of a gagged man. He tried not to think about how he knows what a gagged man sounds like.

Hands untied Shane’s blindfold, and he had to blink a few times to get accustomed to the light. They’re in a warehouse space, with a lofty roof and an airy space that could easily be done up into a modern condo. Shane hates how fucking _old_ he feels just for thinking that shit.

He wonders why he’s here. He wonders why he’s not yet dead. He wonders what they want with him. He wonders why he’s staring into the eyes of a man who is gagged and bound to a chair in the middle of a warehouse space, and which of them is going to die first.

“So, Legs,” Night Night said, and reached into his jacket pocket, “prove you’re not a pig.”

In his hand, there’s a knife, one he’s holding by the blade, extended to Shane. The gun in his back digs in a little deeper, warning him to not try anything. They didn’t have to worry. Shane wouldn’t do anything to harm Night Night, he thinks. Night Night doesn’t seem like a guy that can be touched by just anyone.

The tall one starts filming the second Shane takes the knife, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It doesn’t feel as heavy as it should. Something that causes such permanence should feel like a weapon. It feels like something he’d use to cook dinner.

“Show us your license, Legs,” Night Night barked.

Shane had to stick the knife into his sweatpants pocket in order to fumble his license out of his wallet, but he handed it over to Night Night, who gave it to the tall one. The tall one filmed it. Fuck.

“So, Shane Madej,” Night Night said, “you have two options. You can either kill yourself, or put him in a coffin. He’s going to die either way, the only factor is by whose hand.”

Shane didn’t have a whole load of options, then. If he tried to run away, he’d be shot before he could do anything. He could kill himself, which would kind of suck, or he could kill someone else, on film, which is illegal. Well, shit.

He looked at Night Night. The man smiled at Shane, a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He looked like he was genuinely enjoying the moral dilemma Shane was in, like watching Shane work out his options was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen. Shane’s never had this much attention from an attractive man. No one’s ever found him so intriguing as to watch him _think._ Shane wants more of it.

It was too easy to take the three steps towards the captive. The man’s eyes were wild, and he tensed as Shane drew near. The ropes tying him to the chair were tight enough to cut off circulation, but he still tried to wriggle in his bindings. Too bad, really.

Shane held the knife in his hand, weighting it a few times, and then he slashed it across the man’s throat.

He didn’t feel anything, really.

Not content with that, he took the knife and thrust it into the man’s chest, between his ribs. Blood gushed from the wound as he pressed the knife in as far as it could go, and then he braced his other hand on the man’s shoulder to pull the knife out and stab him again.

By the time he was definitely sure the man was dead, his forearms and work shirt were covered in blood. There’s pretty much no way he could rescue it, so. Fuck. Can he ask Night Night on tips for removing someone else’s blood?

Shane couldn’t tell if Night Night was watching him through his glasses, but he wants to imagine Night Night’s dark gaze on him, following his every movement. He wanted Night Night to want him, to say something. He wants to stay with Night Night, where he feels important. He doesn’t want to go back home and wake up and be an accountant all over again.

“Thank you,” Night Night said, and nodded. The tall one gave Shane back his license, “Baby will drive you home. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to not talk. We know where you live.”

* * *

A few weeks later, Shane was still drifting. Meeting Night Night just showed him what he was missing. He needed an out, something to make his shitty life interesting. He’d been shown it. As quickly as it had come, it was taken away.

Shane, a thirty-year-old with an accountant’s salary and no significant other, did what every other white guy in California loved to do. He went to a dispensary.

He figured it he couldn’t jack it out, couldn’t drink it out, and couldn’t work it out, maybe he could smoke the need for violence and a mobster giving him validation out of his mind. He thought maybe the walk would help clear his mind, but after 45 minutes of LA heat, he wasn’t anywhere closer to not wanting to fuck Night Night. He couldn’t decide between two equally terribly named strains, because he wanted to fuck Night Night. He almost didn’t see his friend, Zach, when he bumped into him, because he was thinking about Night Night.

Zach’s a friend of a friend of a friend, who seems to be about a foot shorter than Shane and living inside a leather jacket. Shane can’t remember really how they met, but the only reason they talk is because they go to the same dispensary. Zach’s pretty funny. He’s a lot more interesting than most of the dweebs Shane ends up talking to these days.

“Oh, hey man, how’s it going?” Zach greeted him, and Shane didn’t know how to answer that. He hates the question, because lying about it seems so facetious, but telling the truth is out of the question.  
“Oh, you know. It is what it is.”   
“Yeah? Heard you met one of my friends recently.”  
“Oh yeah? Who?” Shane doesn’t remember meeting anyone new. He frowned, feeling shitty that his meeting with Zach’s friend was so immemorable that he didn’t even remember.  
“Heard you had a run in with Night Night.”

Shane froze. How did Zach know about that? They’re in fucking public, this isn’t the sort of thing that Zach ought to just _mention,_ off hand, like it’s _nothing._ He grabbed Zach’s arm, pulling him aside and squeezing tight.

“You can’t just fucking –“  
“Chill, dude.”  
“ _Chill_?”  
“You know you’re bringing more attention to yourself by freaking out, right?”

Shane let go of Zach’s arm. This whole thing was too fucking weird.

“He told you about me?”  
“I recognised the description.”  
“The description?”  
“Stupidly tall white guy, looks like a Sasquatch, eyes like Christian Bale.”  
“Batman?”  
“More American Psycho, I think he was getting at.”  
“Shit.”  
“You really don’t have to worry, dude. He’s not gonna come after you, unless you start talking about your night together. He’s not really one for gossip.”

Shane said nothing. How could he? He doesn’t know Zach that well, and here they’re casually talking about murder, when anyone could hear them.

“Oh,” Zach said, bringing his hands up to cradle his face, “you _want_ him to come after you.”

Shane said nothing, again. He had nothing to day.

“Oh, don’t worry, bro. I’ve got you. I’ll let him know.”

Shane didn’t tell him to not bother. He also didn’t know if he really wanted Night Night to come back into his life, to force him to confront all the unthinkable things he wanted.

* * *

Shane didn’t have to do anything. He didn’t even wait very long. Just a few days after he met Zach, he came home to Night Night drinking his beers and skipping through his channels. He wasn’t in the suit this time, just a soft hoodie, jeans, and some fancy sneakers. He didn’t even keep most of his rings.

“Hello, again,” Night Night said.

Shane dropped his keys on the floor in shock.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Night Night drawled, and Shane honestly didn’t know what to do. He knew he _should_ run, he should get out, maybe scream for help. He doesn’t. Stupidly, he doesn’t.  
“It’s my apartment,” Shane said, because he doesn’t know what else to say.  
“Kinda shitty apartment, dude, sorry to say,” Night Night crooked his fingers, as if to beckon Shane toward him. Like a magnet, Shane moved, gravitating towards Night Night. He couldn’t _not._

“Why are you here?” Shane asked.  
“Heard you were looking for me. A little birdy told me you were interested.”  
“What do you think I’m interested in?”  
“Come on, don’t pretend you weren’t half hard when you stabbed that dude. You were into it, and I didn’t even have to tell you he was a sex smuggler.”

Night Night looked at him, and his dark eyes seem to see into every nook and cranny of Shane’s mind. His eyes are exactly as Shane was expecting: warm, inviting, with a shard of danger that sends a chill up Shane’s spine. That’s all of Shane’s cards played, everything he had held close to his chest, bared for a near-stranger to see.

“So?”  
“I think it’s kind of hot. You’re a total freak, Madej.” His name on Night Night’s lips feels right. The part of him that knows this is wrong is screaming at him to get out, run away, be a moral person. That part is slowly being drowned out.  
“Um. Thanks?”   
“You’re completely irrational. Your first instinct is to laugh and make fun of danger. Or you just don’t feel fear. It’s amazing. I could kill you right now, and you just have a boner. We should fuck.”  
Shane doesn’t know what to say. This is all spiralling out of his control. This is so fucking hot. He wants to fuck Ryan so bad. “Way to make a guy feel special.”

“C’mon, Madej. Shane? Can I call you Shane?”  
“Yeah,” Shane sighed, and that’s when he knew he’d lost.  
“I’ll let you call me Ryan. Let me fuck you over this couch and if you’re good, I’ll tell you my last name, how about that.”  
“Okay. Yeah. Okay. Sounds good to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @fratboyryan


End file.
